To the woman who called my self-harm scars disgusting, It’s summer. Hot, sunny, outdoor fun-filled summer. Granted, it’s a different summer than most, but it’s not stopping us from getting out and enjoying it the best we can.
And that’s what I was doing, at a riverfront park sitting on a blanket reading my book. I was wearing a pair of athletic shorts, nothing out of the ordinary, perhaps even more modest than most women my age.
I was minding my own business, not in your way or anyone’s at all. Maybe my shorts slipped up when I moved and you or someone else was looking, but regardless, you took it upon yourself to look me straight in the face, point at the scars on my thigh and say, “Can you cover yourself up?
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